tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47851443634697846922024-03-06T03:05:40.012-05:00JACK's Gay ChroniclesHerein there's prose and there're cons, and insights that excite, but most importantly ... there's JACK. In an effort to clear my head, I unload the random happenings in my mind into sometimes thought-provoking, but usually jovial and comical works, rated R. Welcome to the data dump from the mind of a modern-day, gay male ... who is far from ordinary.JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.comBlogger325125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-37286297701340753672010-10-15T00:11:00.002-04:002010-10-15T00:18:29.095-04:00JGC II?I may be at whits end - although JACK was so much more neurotic than is the real me ... I've got to admit, he had a lot more fun.<br /><br />Am I tired of the straight and narrow? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just being moody ...<br /><br />Or maybe I just need a good dickin' down from the next nigga that strolls on by. I could duck into the alley with him, get it like I need it ... make him give it to me AGAIN ... and send him away with sweat on his brow, his sweat pants askew and with a little stutter.<br /><br />A temporary one, of course.<br /><br />And then JACK can go away like Jason in the hockey mask does, only to rear his ugly head again periodically and confuse people as to why he just won't die ...JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-70798456623157971122010-05-02T19:31:00.002-04:002010-05-02T19:37:46.697-04:00Post 325: Eulogizing JACKPlease continue to follow the spirit of JACK into <a href="http://www.refinedghetto.blogspot.com" target="new">The Refined Ghetto</a> - but first, from the desk of <a href="http://www.thejadednyer.net" target="new">The Jaded Nyer</a>, the following:<br /><br />Friends, Bloggers, Lurkers. It is with great sorrow that we gather here today to mourn the loss of our beloved friend Jack of Jack's Gay Chronicles. It is a day I feared would come and in fact has come too soon. But let us not mourn too long for Jack's death has made a way for <a href="http://www.refinedghetto.blogspot.com" target="new">Alex's birth</a>; the true embodiment of the concept Mufasa taught us in the Lion King... the circle of life...<br /><br />George Bernard Shaw once said:<i> Death is for many of us the gate of hell; but we are inside on the way out, not outside on the way in.</i><br /><br />And I think that was true of Jack. He was, in a way, in a hell of his own making, hiding behind the words on the screen, never really able to be out in the open. Never really free. I remember his frustration at not being able to say what he really wanted to say sometimes, and wishing I could say it for him because dammit- it needed to be said.<br /><br />But now that he's free from the shackles and able to cut a fool down in that great big blog in the sky, I know that his pain is over. He is no longer silenced. He is no longer hidden. The emperor, my friends, has no clothes and frankly- he don't give a fuck.<br /><br />I am sad to see my friend go; we had many a good time together. Threatened many a blogger together. Made fun of so many people together. Plotted against so many idiots together. And I am fearful that those days might never return.<br /><br />However I will only mourn a day or two, for in my heart I realize that while Jack was the bees' knees, Alex is, in fact, the cat's pajamas. And the knowledge of that will comfort me every time I log on to the internet.<br /><br />Fare thee well Jack, my love. May the gods of cyberspace serve you all the Captain Morgan your little liver can stand. I'll miss you.<br /><br />******************JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-88000694186560258932010-04-11T15:07:00.001-04:002010-04-11T15:13:53.814-04:00Dying to be JACKI think JACK has served his purpose and it may be time for him to be laid to rest. I'm tinkering with another blog template to continue blogging, however. I'm just going to come out of the blogger closet and be me and let JACK fall back.<br /><br />So, stay tuned ......JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-27342698955187285612010-04-09T09:44:00.002-04:002010-04-09T09:48:54.527-04:00(Another) Playa with no gameMy fucking phone woke me up this morning, beeping. A damn text. Ugh! So, I read:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"You were great in the shower last night. ;-)"</span><br /><br />... from a number I don't recognize.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Ummm ... hate to break it to you, but I've no idea who you are."</span><br /><br />... and as I try to go back to sleep ...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"sorry"</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lessons Learned:</span><br />1) Apparently, I make good decisions about which niggas to erase from my phone<br />2) Apparently, he does notJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-71899288821514096062010-04-08T13:48:00.004-04:002010-04-08T14:05:04.099-04:00Taking AdvantageIn June of last year, my job laid off 1/3 of the staff. It meant I inherited a shitload of job responsibilities and a slew of promises to promote me and adjust my salary.<br /><br />I took over all of the director's responsibility, since he was laid off, and that of his part time admin, who was also laid off. I kept 90% of my own job responsibilities.<br /><br />I sat through director's meetings, both on site and off site.<br /><br />I created the 2010 budget for the department, and sat through all budget meetings with the board of directors.<br /><br />I closed 2009 in the black - 15% ahead of projections.<br /><br />And today - while out to lunch with the President I made it clear that I'm not having it any more. I just got back from that lunch and I feel lighter. I was professional, of course, and told him that I appreciated his telling me how valuable I am and detailing for me what great skills I have.<br /><br />"I know that to be true - I have all that to offer and more. But the organization's actions to date have communicated otherwise. And that troubles me."<br /><br />He said he understood, said he didn't want to lose me as an employee and blah blah blah.<br /><br />"We've had these meetings since before our office move, since November. We've discussed the job, the job title, the fact that there would be a salary adjustment ... but never with any specifics. The only real specifics I have right now is this here job description ... but I wrote it, I sent it to you and we're here because I asked."<br /><br />He mentioned that he had wanted to wait to announce all the organization changes at the same time and it seemed that he allowed me to get caught up in all the delays occurring elsewhere with hiring a new managing director in a different unit.<br /><br />"I understand that. But at the same time, I want to make it clear that this is a significant issue for me as an employee of this company."<br /><br />"I hear you loud and clear. I'll make it up to you - and soon."<br /><br />"Ok," I said with a professional smile, and secretly thinking <span style="font-style: italic;">"babies have been conceived and birthed since you first said that to me"</span><br /><br />So - if I end up jobless, blog family - you know why: My Mouth. (for not letting my job take advantage of me like they want to continue to do)<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(I'm seriously clearing my life of bullshit, though - I am in a good place mentally and I refuse to have mended that area of my life only to give up the ghost emotionally. I can't be bothered.)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(Incidentally, I have indeed been sending out resumes since November. I didn't do it completely whimsically)</span>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-84433370321770059252010-04-07T16:30:00.004-04:002010-04-07T16:50:21.054-04:00Blessed with FriendsThere's nothing new on the FB Social Experiment, so I thought I'd share today. It's been a rough day for me, emotionally. I've been in a funk for a hot minute and have been pensive for much of the last 7 days. And it has all unraveled for me in my head, thanks to two of the best fag hags, I mean girlfriends, in the entire world.<br /><br />That JADED - she's top notch, I swear. I told this bitch I was all emotionally worn out, you know like to the point of tears because there's just not fucking much else you can do. Well, I suppose I could punch a wall or some random passerby, but a) I'm too cute to have bloodied up knuckles and b) I don't really fight and when I have to it's rarely clean (I'm 5'6" dammit! In the hood that meant scrappy - so [hear Della Reese for me] - I like to throw garbage cans at people.<br /><br />I digressed, as I'm wont to do. But this bitch was all up my craw about the tears business. Cry? She asked me. "Deal with it and move on!" Thank God it was via text because I didn't need all that yelled in my hear. As it was, I could totally hear her tone right there in black and white!<br /><br />Then there's my gurl in Indy. Lunch is a date on the 14th, she wrote - Mark Your Calendar! The first day I get to Indy and she's ready for me. That's right girl. We'll meet for real. And all those other things she texted me to encourage me? Priceless. <br /><br />In the overall scheme of things - I've got true friends. Between the two of them, we're talking upwards of 20 years, bitches. And I really am grateful they're there to keep me in check when I'm about to lose my Got Damn mind.<br /><br />News in a somewhat related area, I've been upset with a friend of mine for some time now. He and his man had a falling out and I had some real issues with how he dealt with me at the time. To be clear, he and I were friends before he met his man and at one point he was referring to me as his BFF. But when shit got real crazy for him, he was ghost. Didn't communicate with me at all ...<br /><br />I was worried as hell - wondering what he was really doing and if he was truly ok. He would only intermittently respond to my emails or texts, and never took my calls. I felt snubbed, especially when I realized that he was obviously speaking to other friends via FB. I've watched his other friendships flourish and I've been conflicted.<br /><br />I'm truly glad he's ok - has people around him and that he isn't in self-imposed solitary confinement. But at the same time, exactly what the fuck happened that I don't get to take part in his healing process? I felt that I earned the right as his friend to be there for him. And yes, I said that correctly - friendship is a privilege and I'm not interested in the type of friendship that is only ok when times are good. I can be there when shit hits the fan too.<br /><br />I haven't heard his voice in many months and although we've discussed things via text - he knows I'm upset. And have been upset. I suppose I thought our friendship had surpassed that phase where you're selective with what you share - but I've grasped that apparently it hadn't. At least not on his end. It's been hard to accept, but I've reached the acceptance phase.<br /><br />In other areas, however - not so much. In some places, still in mourning - in others, in denial. But my ride-or-die bitches are quick to make sure I'm in no way confused about where I'm at with the so-and-so issue.<br /><br />And for that, I am truly grateful. (And I'm grateful for the extended warranty I bought on the Audi because it's currently getting $4,000 worth of work done for $375 - praise JeSUSSSS!)JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-81667314484094735782010-04-06T23:11:00.002-04:002010-04-06T23:18:33.183-04:00Chinese (Dominican/Puerto Rican) Experiment - TAKE III flipped the script on JADED today. She threatened to make the switch to our FB faux relationship to "it's complicated." Instead, and sneakily, I made the change.<br /><br />Interesting thing here - it told me that she needed to confirm the status of the relationship, but as soon as I changed it my profile said "it's complicated." Didn't bother waiting for her to confirm it. And then, within minutes, our text exchange:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">I'm NOT confirming that we are in a complicated relationship. I REFUSE! How dare you, carajo?! Don't you know who I am? You think you can do BETTER?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 51, 255);">Mine says complicated. I don't care what you do.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">*sobs* How can you humiliate me like this?!? ON FACEBOOK?!?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 51, 255);">Who's this?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">MIRA CARAJO!</span><br /><br />JACK's COMMENTARY<br />It's funny how that in real life, one person can decide a relationship is complicated and it just is. I mean, I might think everything is fine but if my man is struggling with it - then it's complicated. But, really - what the fuck does that mean? A Complicated Relationship.<br /><br />What *IS* a complicated relationship? I've always thought it was pretty cut and dry. Relationships are riddled with ups and downs ... what's so complicated? <br /><br />Any thoughts?JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-22556740314166376342010-04-05T14:12:00.003-04:002010-04-05T14:12:00.143-04:00Chinese (Dominican/Puerto Rican) ExperimentIt's sad but true - we've been single since before FaceBook. And since FB has been the medium of choice for starting, complicating and announce the end of relationships - Jaded and I have embarked on a journey .... we're officially in a FB relationship. And this is what we've learned so far:<br /><br /><ul><li>You can't just be in a relationship with just anybody. They have to actually confirm that they know you. FB said I had a "relationship request." When I clicked it, it asked: <span style="font-style: italic;">Would you like to confirm your relationship with Raquel?</span> I confirmed, although we both wonder what would happen if I ignored the request. (But that wouldn't facilitate this CDPR Experiment)</li></ul>I suppose this is kind of like real life, in that you do kinda have to ask someone to be your girlfriend or boyfriend - I mean, you at least have to have the discussion ... I'm glad to see that hasn't changed. Like, in my day - you asked someone to dance ... and nowadays, you simply have to see someone dancing and that apparently means you can bump your dick against his/her ass and sway in time. But FB confirms that the idea of having to ask someone to be in a relationship with you is still alive today. That's good to know.<br /><br /><ul><li>The people that know us well are completely baffled by our announcement in FB. Others who know us both are reluctantly (and ingenuously) thanking God we're off the market. (Dumb asses) </li></ul>Apparently, it's still commonplace for people to be plastic and smile all up in your face(book) about shit ... I really wish that weren't true, but alas - it is. OH! And dumbasses still exist - but we already knew that.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Next on our list is to figure out what happens when you try to be in multiple relationships at the same time. I'll give the details in my next post - but first I have to find someone who is willing to let me try to "Relationship" them on FB without it being weird or anything.<br /><br />ta ta for now<br /></span>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-22097240580321479062010-04-03T22:02:00.004-04:002010-04-03T22:20:18.467-04:00the softer side of JACK<span style="font-weight: bold;">Winter Lovers</span><br /><br />Sent from the sky above<br />a snowflake drifts along<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">slowly</span><br />seeking a final resting place<br />and lands on his lash<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">gently</span><br />His lover sees it sitting there<br />and leans on in to kiss it<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">softly</span><br />I close my eyes as he closes in<br />and feel his lips<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">warmly</span><br />melting away the frost<br />that dissolves and tracks down my cheek<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">sweetly</span><br />and there in three-quarter length coats<br />made of gray cashmere and wool<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">lovingly</span><br />we hold leather gloved hands<br />and stare into each others' eyes<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">deeply</span><br />until it doesn't feel like it's cold at allJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-38185965028877828742010-03-29T20:49:00.001-04:002010-03-29T21:48:54.600-04:00Damn Drag QueensMemphis Bitches Don't Play<br /><br /><object width="240" height="135"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XT2UmZxzmjs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XT2UmZxzmjs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Chicago Bitches Don't Neither<br /><br /><object width="240" height="135"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RKdcJfIM-tE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RKdcJfIM-tE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />(For the record, I know someone who rides the Red line to that Jarvis stop. Mhmm - I'm looking at you ...)<br /><br />And for your viewing pleasure ...<br /><br /><object width="240" height="135"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WrW0kySM6CE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WrW0kySM6CE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-50111765806932105642010-03-26T22:55:00.003-04:002010-03-26T23:06:39.429-04:00Interesting ThingsI had to write down three things I like about myself because Jaded's blog said to - and I realized that I really like my gray hair. I really do. It's been there for a while and I am quite attached to it. *grin*<br /><br />I got an email out of the blue at work from an old college friend. She and I were mad tight back in the day - she didn't make it, leaving after Sophomore year, and I went on to graduate. We lost touch, after trying half-heartedly not to, and now she's emailed me. We're planning on chatting tomorrow. Should be a good time catching up.<br /><br />Watched "Cloudy with a chance of meatballs" with the kids tonight - it was cute, but I didn't really like it all that much. However, there's this Black cop in the movie whose dad tells him he love him and the kid says, "Dad, you tell me you love me ALL the time!" as excitedly as he can. My kids, almost simultaneously, say to me - you do, too daddy! That made my night.<br /><br />I've lost 4 pounds this week. Went to the gym 5 times in 7 days, and have been watching what I eat, cutting out all that late night snacking crap. A good friend motivated me and I think it's sticking this time. (And when I say motivated, I mean he worked me out two days in a row and it hurt to move for the whole fucking week)<br /><br />My daughter forgot her homework at school - and I realized that I needed to have her mother call other parents and find out what the homework was. It's a big project to do internet research and I don't live in their school district and don't know any of the other parents. Anyway, the child was mortified at having to tell her mom that she left her folder at school because "mom doesn't like it when I leave my homework at school."<br /><br />It was all good until she asked me to wait and not tell mom until we saw if the teacher responded to the email I sent. At that point, the dynamic changed - I told her that mommy and daddy don't keep secrets and that we had to really talk about what was the right thing to do. 35 minutes and lots of tears later - she calls her mom and tells her. It all worked out ok - and baby girl ended up telling me "I feel better"<br /><br />Why one of my friends was over here with her 3 year old and left him with me while she ran home for a bit ... and that was 3+ hours ago?!? She just called and said she's on her way. I guess I should go into the other room now. I just needed some adult time - it's been me and three kids for THREE HOURS! lolJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-69929398695872959422010-03-25T14:10:00.003-04:002010-03-25T14:43:33.657-04:00No really does mean .... NO<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79wKdDSzOFmDZBcJ9bRTy-GzOaGsXn79vmo_vZaFkPmSlXR4otuaVZfMaZ149ToRNcLPADmdjAYQ7H0Wyhyphenhyphen781-tzPvHyYL1Zw1uqCkAP9pcl79PUvuqcapiag6XVmQf3IBSd2p6_8bI/s1600/No+Means+No.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79wKdDSzOFmDZBcJ9bRTy-GzOaGsXn79vmo_vZaFkPmSlXR4otuaVZfMaZ149ToRNcLPADmdjAYQ7H0Wyhyphenhyphen781-tzPvHyYL1Zw1uqCkAP9pcl79PUvuqcapiag6XVmQf3IBSd2p6_8bI/s320/No+Means+No.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452640418370324962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last week I got this text message from a dude:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> "I don't know what I did wrong, but I can't do anything about it if you're not communicating with me."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I had not spoken to him in a while, but the last time we had spoken, he was trying to get me to phone bone or have text sex or so whatever. Clearly, dude has gone off the deep end, since I did already CLEARLY explained that I was not doing casual sex and that I wasn't interested in this nonsense. So, I ended that interaction abruptly and a while later I get a text pic of his finale. <br /><br />I've not acknowledged him at all since. No responses to IM's, to texts, to his phone calls. And - yes, I'm clear that he has a mini-obsession thing going on, but it's not my problem. It really isn't. When I tell the mutha fucka that I'm not interested in casual sex and that that phase is truly behind me ... that I really am not looking for JUST sex, so casual sex is just not really an option because that's all casual sex is (it's JUST sex) ... the mutha fucker should NOT be talking about, "that just made you so much hotter."<br /><br />He's obviously not listening to me. That, or he thinks he's God's gift to gay men and that he can wear me down. And if it's the latter, then he CLEARLY doesn't know me. When I done made up my mind, it's set. Like concrete.<br /><br />Today I get a text from this other brutha - a kid, really. A decade my junior and trying to holla for a couple of years now. Whatever, he comes out of the woodworks when it's convenient for him ... we exchange niceties and then he disappears again. Today?<br /><br />"I'm just bored in class. What's new?"<br /><br />"Fool, pay attention!"<br /><br />"I usually do - but today is boring"<br /><br />"Bad Student!"<br /><br />"You should punish me :-)"<br /><br />"How do you think I should go about doing THAT?"<br /><br />"You can figure that our - I know yr a freak"<br /><br />"Actually, I'm not - it's 3+ months since I took that vow of celibacy"<br /><br />"But why? You're a hot boi"<br /><br />WTF! When I say that I'm not doing the casual sex bit ... the response should not be a reference to how hot you think I am, dammit! I don't give a got damn - ok? Listen closely - NOOOTTTT DOOOOIIIINNNNNGGGG IIIIITTTTTTTT<br /><br />Acceptable responses include, but are not limited to:<br /><br /><ul><li>"oh, cool - I didn't know"</li><li>"Well, go on witcha bad self"</li><li>"Peace"</li><li>"How long has it been? That's great"</li><li>"For real?! YOU?!? LOL" (cuz I can take a joke - but eventually, one of the aforementioned acceptable responses must follow)</li></ul>Seriously, folks - if we're not dating, we're not fucking. (period)<br /><br />Y YA!<br /><br /></div></div>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-62336435358001597402010-03-23T18:19:00.002-04:002010-03-23T18:21:28.265-04:00The Second Best DadMy Daughter (unprompted): Daddy, you know what? You're the second best dad in the whole wide world!<br /><br />JACK: Is that right?<br /><br />My Daughter: Yes - because God is the best daddy - and then YOU!<br /><br /><br />That is all.<br /><br />Happy to play second fiddle to the Lord,<br /><br />JACKJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-91361443612637141732010-03-19T23:09:00.013-04:002010-03-19T23:48:05.898-04:00I know stupid when I see it<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's been a long time since JACK's Camera made an appearance around these parts and I bet you thought JACK had actually put his camera away, stopped taking pictures of things and people and perhaps he had actually stopped invading people's privacy by not only taking pictures of them without their permission, but posting them on the internets for everyone under the sun, moon and clouds to see. But I didn't. Instead, I've been collecting<br /><br />Take I</span><br />I think it was those Japanese food places at the mall food courts that started this trend by shoving Bourbon Chicken in your face in those little white cups for you to sample and come back fiendishly looking to make a buy. But look closely here:<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRY7c0JCu1Qj9rLQ_rjVG4IIwPxVH1gwAM7PFlPg2RNQmD24FCG2VbTp1XR88ABxRbbJciyhiMjTQVLBuBgTHRM9__01rVXfuab7R8g-ou01nfLgSw05a4bJfTjujYlcGNLU1rLL2r-UU/s1600-h/STUPID1_CatFood.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRY7c0JCu1Qj9rLQ_rjVG4IIwPxVH1gwAM7PFlPg2RNQmD24FCG2VbTp1XR88ABxRbbJciyhiMjTQVLBuBgTHRM9__01rVXfuab7R8g-ou01nfLgSw05a4bJfTjujYlcGNLU1rLL2r-UU/s320/STUPID1_CatFood.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450550230595818882" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">THIS bitch wants you to sample <span style="font-style: italic;">cat food</span>.<br />(and, no, this wasn't Petsmart!)<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Take II</span><br />After one of my hookups some time ago (it was Fall of 08, I think!), I left his apartment all wobbly in the legs because, let me tell ya, it was GOOD. And there on the corner ... was THIS place:<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgXvVCGciKdhcIDtGfC9y3Ofmkre8NDB8jwN-QJs2aVCjPUKmJYy3waysmG8GLcnQMui2-ml7Kvnmw0UhO06ui1vElWRJkFdHUqIG1lw2Ds4qAJofDwROjwlZIS0ax0DMTTGOQIOm0ao/s1600-h/STUPID2_Sausage.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgXvVCGciKdhcIDtGfC9y3Ofmkre8NDB8jwN-QJs2aVCjPUKmJYy3waysmG8GLcnQMui2-ml7Kvnmw0UhO06ui1vElWRJkFdHUqIG1lw2Ds4qAJofDwROjwlZIS0ax0DMTTGOQIOm0ao/s320/STUPID2_Sausage.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450551086284483842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Totally stupid name, but this one made my day.<br />(Ok, actually, the dude did - but this was close second. Well, second.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Take III</span><br />Before my current job moved, and when I was smoking, this was where I would go for my smoke breaks. It was easy to just chill in the parking garage because it's outdoors and there's a roof! Bonus.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOYAsPAbNYAJzHNEs16k6EDIuQtMb055Bi49EEleHBEW9ydtp4wN5wk73DDabRpr6xYjUijaEJz4Y4v6rPvEqmS1MZPinf3FMQzrTwiCeOvfWh99Uc28MqqrJAXZSDgr8SbslBVz9iS8/s1600-h/STUPID3_GARAGE.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOYAsPAbNYAJzHNEs16k6EDIuQtMb055Bi49EEleHBEW9ydtp4wN5wk73DDabRpr6xYjUijaEJz4Y4v6rPvEqmS1MZPinf3FMQzrTwiCeOvfWh99Uc28MqqrJAXZSDgr8SbslBVz9iS8/s320/STUPID3_GARAGE.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450552086546621346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But clearly if you're a jumper, they want you to be at least on the third floor. I think there's maybe liability if you survive the fall.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Take IV</span><br />It was really hot that day.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2IopKva74-1IFdj-NvCY21-B3L28ca6mvOw6btE_nUOTUPEPuCN1YjnCmumHqOlH_JVf6-K-5Jdt97JFjRTb4hHG1q5XraqfoaBkFSWQLeqDDI95f_ZuUdoYJ4Xg_P32pvH-D_pDBfTM/s1600-h/STUPID4_TEMP.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2IopKva74-1IFdj-NvCY21-B3L28ca6mvOw6btE_nUOTUPEPuCN1YjnCmumHqOlH_JVf6-K-5Jdt97JFjRTb4hHG1q5XraqfoaBkFSWQLeqDDI95f_ZuUdoYJ4Xg_P32pvH-D_pDBfTM/s320/STUPID4_TEMP.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450552818129173650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But, seriously? No one at the bank can get this shit right? It's NUMBERS, dammit!</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Take V</span><br />Chicago weather can toy with the extremes.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjGtbRJW9eydzr6nq4KrdKB7AKjclWCUuRw7gZmZdqLip9eIxslG1LpuY5Pzzz0T6r5xTUBS_Ul6OPBi6vHNNLShl898ywEvIY9wNfMO-tahUWp9zt0f8NQdiUCa9kVkMEKwQ4DcwncE/s1600-h/STUPID6_BRRR.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjGtbRJW9eydzr6nq4KrdKB7AKjclWCUuRw7gZmZdqLip9eIxslG1LpuY5Pzzz0T6r5xTUBS_Ul6OPBi6vHNNLShl898ywEvIY9wNfMO-tahUWp9zt0f8NQdiUCa9kVkMEKwQ4DcwncE/s320/STUPID6_BRRR.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450553272087619426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!</div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Take VI</span><br /><br />Now, I really appreciate construction signs. I really do. The last thing I want to do is be driving along, minding my own business and then have some kids daddy land on my windshield because I didn't know he was going to be there around the bend holding a SLOW sign.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjomUAq9unfGfxWc6miKYIPT_JZiDkfKDjQ0Lsfpuyy-h3H-76yLBXFPG7-V-bqfTt3AePig4OaqAPWln8UOTJlZmFPZzfE7B2uWnr2gfnhZQq8Om_fKOUjGLYcnvw83Po0gei40tUxbU/s1600-h/STUPID5_Construction.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjomUAq9unfGfxWc6miKYIPT_JZiDkfKDjQ0Lsfpuyy-h3H-76yLBXFPG7-V-bqfTt3AePig4OaqAPWln8UOTJlZmFPZzfE7B2uWnr2gfnhZQq8Om_fKOUjGLYcnvw83Po0gei40tUxbU/s320/STUPID5_Construction.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450553876518913170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But who the FUCK put this shit up? I mean, exactly what? Huh? Where?! Look, just tell me who the fuck did this - because THAT mother fucker I wanna run over.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">TAKE VII</span><br /><br />New York City. Circa a few months ago. I'm driving my rental when suddenly something tells me that may I really SHOULD have purchased that "walk away" insurance from Avis.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrux7-md0CSF1zLhBNgdckzxVmVYLWRxfaB4xQMqnaEdAlFqjFb8fhnACu29F7JVLZeG_Gsvs5J6Yj6_520FYpGea4JatJcZg8QJlW5hm2qjkNx2tHn64lYVlmsAM-UmrZ_1YgSJUzEQ/s1600-h/STUPID7_TRUCKSTU.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrux7-md0CSF1zLhBNgdckzxVmVYLWRxfaB4xQMqnaEdAlFqjFb8fhnACu29F7JVLZeG_Gsvs5J6Yj6_520FYpGea4JatJcZg8QJlW5hm2qjkNx2tHn64lYVlmsAM-UmrZ_1YgSJUzEQ/s320/STUPID7_TRUCKSTU.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450555671090284578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">No, but really - aren't there schools where you practice on a closed course to get a CDL? I didn't even know thes signs CAME this big. I wonder if they make them big enough for airliners.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">TAKE VII</span><br /><br />Sometimes, however, I feel like stupidity is there to remind me that things could be oh so much worse for me. Like, fine - I'm single, I'm stressed a lot, I usually always tired from running so hard all the time ... but, I don't do shit like this<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiMjNABVFZ9M-U1EFNEnKQ9TiKiXR6YR75nZJNxBR7q1LpfmCvOVtwO5XA5AdosIc2ciVvRUhZ9K931FHcvAcdt0thoMZhK0z5YrdsaEhunD6lHcSJcLORvJg-ZdjQUDIGUd0vtUAnL8/s1600-h/STUPID8_Flip.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiMjNABVFZ9M-U1EFNEnKQ9TiKiXR6YR75nZJNxBR7q1LpfmCvOVtwO5XA5AdosIc2ciVvRUhZ9K931FHcvAcdt0thoMZhK0z5YrdsaEhunD6lHcSJcLORvJg-ZdjQUDIGUd0vtUAnL8/s320/STUPID8_Flip.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450556621472049458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Clearly, there are no gay men on THIS marketing team.<br />(ooorrrr maYYYYbe there ARE - and this might just be sheer brilliance! Cuz I want one now)<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TAKE IX - MY FAVORITE</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2d83zR3sr54Eno5ldiCKTZzKSBZVoSHg2ytT0Gpy3uwxsTE8gij15QJZHQ5aM8CQw1_oIvLqXSAA4v_zT46YgJ1FqQRvCcdF77tKRVAMrBLXZHTbQFWtgNPjj1TsCal-KE3ANBLUbbTo/s1600-h/STUPID8_Walmart.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2d83zR3sr54Eno5ldiCKTZzKSBZVoSHg2ytT0Gpy3uwxsTE8gij15QJZHQ5aM8CQw1_oIvLqXSAA4v_zT46YgJ1FqQRvCcdF77tKRVAMrBLXZHTbQFWtgNPjj1TsCal-KE3ANBLUbbTo/s320/STUPID8_Walmart.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450557388636176306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Nigga, PLEASE get your big, dumb black ass out of the Walmart shopping cart and wait in line properly like the rest of us. DAMN!<br /></div>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-36895855369297292022010-03-15T14:20:00.004-04:002010-03-15T14:40:01.659-04:00Please, oh please, oh please, oh PLEASE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk1wEA2PXRNSQX8IUuvyqSETdX_-oOHGG_WoFTfewMlOyijLiJqiyZo4cFt24PrOd36sSShAakN6h9BDa3oXXCuWK_2FlWWEgw1ctn2qiolr8tRR2ve02dl2PiuJ2Ja1LMVBRComua1o/s1600-h/chicago-poetry-calendar.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk1wEA2PXRNSQX8IUuvyqSETdX_-oOHGG_WoFTfewMlOyijLiJqiyZo4cFt24PrOd36sSShAakN6h9BDa3oXXCuWK_2FlWWEgw1ctn2qiolr8tRR2ve02dl2PiuJ2Ja1LMVBRComua1o/s200/chicago-poetry-calendar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448927969386077314" /></a>It looks like this thing will eventually become reality. I do love Chicago, the big city feel and the hustle and bustle and the big buildings and the "I'm so alive" feeling. But, being here and not LIVING here is a pain in the dick. I mean, I can't tell you how much money I shell out for the privilege of owning a house in Indianapolis and renting a room in Chicago and driving back and forth between the two.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVxE3LC6mzf3P_KJ-u8szYonDazVO5Ryh8WDBPsZckV8vpuuGWL6evgSc38Sy8Fh3OiS7v_ilDsiRRctxoFU3y22iiDFdaR6iKhjMuIi-WxcnlE-vDdaMe15IwcOelgH6YdW4fE8m2ug/s1600-h/indianapolis.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 123px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVxE3LC6mzf3P_KJ-u8szYonDazVO5Ryh8WDBPsZckV8vpuuGWL6evgSc38Sy8Fh3OiS7v_ilDsiRRctxoFU3y22iiDFdaR6iKhjMuIi-WxcnlE-vDdaMe15IwcOelgH6YdW4fE8m2ug/s200/indianapolis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448929805515570306" /></a>Indianapolis is pretty in its own right, and although I don't particularly like it there as much as I like it in Chicago - that's where my babies are and I need to come on back home. <br /><br />I have been sending out resumes for several weeks now, a few of them just yesterday. It looks good that I'll get an interview with my alma mater (I'm listed as "interviewing" in my candidate profile, even though they haven't called me) and just today I received two phone calls for two other positions. I'm praying I get at least one job offer out of this and I'm posting to ask my blog family to hope, pray, meditate or whatever it is you happen to do ... and hope, pray, meditate or whatever my way there.<br /><br />Keeping my fingers crossed,<br /><br />JACKJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-56704614674219084912010-03-14T01:48:00.003-05:002010-03-14T01:56:19.409-05:00My Baby Black As Hell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5CmkmmXj1OfOHWZ2TyTzJDMY4Xw7l8vlqFf7VVQ37j8LFiF4TXpnomf_l40iMjF7w6J4B21C28a0mkuH7l36PkawjeGcfRA5g7bSCosteblPIHnMjdPctTtxD5H7OE8XRNCLWgbxnkk/s1600-h/thats-so-raven-symone-300-032707.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5CmkmmXj1OfOHWZ2TyTzJDMY4Xw7l8vlqFf7VVQ37j8LFiF4TXpnomf_l40iMjF7w6J4B21C28a0mkuH7l36PkawjeGcfRA5g7bSCosteblPIHnMjdPctTtxD5H7OE8XRNCLWgbxnkk/s320/thats-so-raven-symone-300-032707.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448379560843218338" /></a><br />So, there we are - watching the Disney Channel. It's That's So Raven. In this episode, Raven has a vision she's dancing with some hot dude at the prom. So, she turns down everyone who asks her for being "not him."<br /><br />Anyway, it turns out that she's all dressed up and still has no date - so her father dresses up in a tuxedo and offers to take her. She turns him down saying she just needs to suck it up and go with her friends.<br /><br />(She gets stuck in the moon roof of the limo - a blast from the past ex shows up - they dance in the gas station parking lot and blah blah blah)<br /><br />So, afterwards, I say to my 8 YEAR OLD daughter:<br /><br />"You're gonna have ME take you to your prom, right? Cuz you're my baby girl"<br /><br />She responds, without giving it so much as a thought, saying "nobody said you could ruin my teenage years."<br /><br />I *promise* you that's her momma right there ... right the fuck thurrr, that's her mommma!!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(I mean I didn't expect a yes - but I didn't expect a "get the fuck out my face, daddy," neither)<br /></span>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-19905452941044129422010-03-09T23:15:00.001-05:002010-03-09T23:20:50.152-05:00My New Idol<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8YzSDK2Bk3I&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8YzSDK2Bk3I&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="360" height="289"></embed></object>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-18370337482386359372010-03-08T23:28:00.002-05:002010-03-08T23:28:00.207-05:00Momma don't know best<span style="font-weight:bold;">Momma Don't Change</span><br />It happened one day when I was talking to a friend of mine about random guy things. I was married then and he and his girlfriend were visiting - I lay on the couch and he lay on the floor and we spoke into the dark. He asked about my mother and I got to talking when these words spewed out of my mouth, "I love my mother, but I don't particularly like her." I stunned myself - and was grateful to find out that as I spoke those words, my friend drifted off to sleep, having never heard me say them - but I couldn't forget then and it fucked with my head so much that I went to see a counselor about it. Did I really not like momma?<br /><br />You might think I'm on some bullshit when I say, quite candidly and rather smugly, that my mother is off her fuckin' rocker. The bitch will completely and totally point at me and laugh her ass off, and growing up she did that a lot. She's got bats in her belfry for real - she initiates gossip about me throughout the family as if I'm some off-the-street trashy nigga. <br /><br />She's just plain 'ole certifiable. But I'm not on some rant about how annoyed I am at her - for I've really come to accept that she is who she is and that despite how I feel about it she's going to continue being who she is. If nothing else, those counseling sessions helped me realize that I can't change her and her gossipy ways and that the only thing I could change was me - so I accepted that my momma just crazy, ya' - crazy. I don't like the crazy, but I do love her crazy ass.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Momma Don't want no Gay</span><br />I've toyed with the idea of coming out to her, but I realize that every time we broach the subject, she shuts down. She is in some serious denial. But she knows - she just doesn't WANT me to be gay - so if I don't admit it, then it's not so - but she knows. (This the crazy JACK momma logic)<br /><br />Once in college I was arguing on the phone with my boyfriend - although he was the one I wanted, I was confused and was sort of simultaneously talking to the woman who would eventually become my ex-wife. Anyway, after that call, mom asked me if everything was alright. I said yes, ma. <br /><br />"You fighting?"<br /><br />"Yes, ma - but it's fine"<br /><br />and as I walk away she said, "is it with a man or with a woman?"<br /><br />I turned back to her and looked her squarely in the eye, "both."<br /><br />She turned away from me and distracted herself with some crossword of hers. <br /><br />I still remember the blank stare I got before she turned away from me - she was utterly shocked ... in a mortified sort of way, not in a surprised sort of way.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Momma don't want no faggot</span><br />Another time, after my divorce, I was hooking up with this dude who was going to pick me up. I was in NYC visiting mom and that's where he was going to pick me up.<br /><br />"I hope you're not getting into that faggot shit," she said to me.<br /><br />I looked her squarely in the eye, "Why not?!"<br /><br />She stared at me and then cut her eyes to distract herself with yet another fucking crossword puzzle book. No more talk - no more acknowledgment. End of discussion. <br /><br />But she told me a lot by calling it "faggot" shit and refusing to acknowledge me ... we're cool as long as I'm not gay.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Momma will make up some SHIT</span><br />I could fill volumes with the nonsense my momma will make up - but today's edition takes the cake. You will NOT believe the nonsense my own mother is perpetuating in the family. It's likely the most ridiculous "my son ain't gay, dammit!" pounding of the chest nonsense you done ever heard. You ready?<br /><br />My cousin (female) called to tell me that our aunt (my mother's sister) told her that my mother told HER ... (you following?) ... that she's convinced that my cousin (female) and I are lovers.<br /><br />Yes, folks - incest is better than homosexuality - just ask my momma.JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-1090203295544412172010-03-05T19:27:00.004-05:002010-03-05T19:36:29.371-05:00Suck the Shine off Dem Lips<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufBZQA17Tbe6A_NH7w-S2ts5x5s3jpg7HISn_3cw5UX5XvL1HLbEi4evUsVkk9acofq6Uo8KVmpua_tIqviWOvVl5I9AeT5CgnmUmQzSAca1PCkFp3LJ465o1evz5IGqiDi9KBQ-Gr8I/s1600-h/carmex-advert.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufBZQA17Tbe6A_NH7w-S2ts5x5s3jpg7HISn_3cw5UX5XvL1HLbEi4evUsVkk9acofq6Uo8KVmpua_tIqviWOvVl5I9AeT5CgnmUmQzSAca1PCkFp3LJ465o1evz5IGqiDi9KBQ-Gr8I/s320/carmex-advert.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445311121383419506" /></a>So, my lips have been screaming for the winter to go the fuck away and for some humidity to come on back into the air - so I've got m carmex. I'm on a date last night and put some on - I ask him if my lips are shiny cuz I don't want them all shiny. He said it didn't matter because he'd suck the shine off my lips if he had to.<br /><br />Really? Ok - so, I was at work today and .... blah blah blah<br /><br />Look folks, I wasn't kidding about my not being into no fuckin and suckin and frottagin' and all dat. I'm not sure where my libido is, but it's off in some far away brush hiding from me. And I'm not out looking for it.<br /><br />I made that clear when he and I began to speak - of course, we met online. So, of course, I didn't have my hopes in the rafters over the date, but it was a fun change to an otherwise mundane schedule of work, train, home - work, train, home. So, I went and for all intents and purposes things went fairly well.<br /><br />Weird.<br /><br />I didn't see any sparks or anything - but I'm glad to have gone out and met him and to listen to him speak as opposed to reading him text. I'm not sure what the shiny lip comment was about, but I think he got the message when I acknowledged he said it and kept it moving into other areas. He didn't disrespect me, he didn't try to touch me or get me home or anything. It ended with a kiss goodbye that was really just a peck on the lips and nothing really extraordinarily ridiculous ...<br /><br />I done tole you how I once accidentally blew a drag queen - I'm not taking ya' mother fuckers at face value anymore ... any queen in heels can kick off her shoes and put on some Nikes and a pair of baggy jeans. But I'm (mostly) sure this one doesn't moonlight in hosiery.<br /><br />Whatever - I'm just glad I'm able to date without getting cum in my hair.JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-55649928887912814592010-02-28T11:58:00.003-05:002010-02-28T12:21:34.157-05:00Children ...I maintain a great relationship with my ex-in laws. The ex-wife and I are on decent terms, somewhat reminiscent of how we were when we were best friends in college, before we made the ridiculous decision to get married and act straight. My ex mother-in-law is on of my aces. My brother- and sister- in law, not quite as tight - but we're family.<br /><br />My sister-in-law? I'm needing someone to punch her in her goddamn face. She had a kid with her boyfriend two years ago ... and since then they've broken up and he's seeing someone else. Clearly she went through with having the kid in order to keep him - she's absolutely obsessed with this man, who has hit her and cursed her out in front of the kid.<br /><br />Yet - she still wants him. Once she asked me for this song on CD, and I knoew that I knew that I KNEW that she was pining for her baby daddy again:<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vzo-EL_62fQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vzo-EL_62fQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />So, the mother-in-law and sister-in-law (they would be mother and daughter - keep up) have had a falling out over how she is raising this boy. She doesn't pay him ay mind, is always on the phone and when she DOES pay him mind, she's raising her voice at him. When she's not yelling at him or ignoring him, she's looking for a baby sitter. <br /><br />At one point, Child Protection services was involved - medical neglect. She had this boy with pneumonia and three separate family members told her to take the kids to the ER. Three days went by and she still hadn't gone. Enter Child Protection - she took him to the ER right then ... he was admitted. Her case was eventually closed, although not without her piss testing every week and having in-home counselor meetings ... she did it, though.<br /><br />She's back to her old habits again though - the kid is 2 now and is constantly back and forth. Grandma (the mother-in-law) asked me to pick him up and bring him to her because she wants to spend time with her grandson but at this point doesn't want anything to do with the daughter. Ok, whatever - I go.<br /><br />But I have to go to the baby daddy's new girlfriend's house. Right - momma didn't have the baby. Neither did daddy, cuz he was working. This child was with his non-custodial parent's girlfriend ... without diapers, wipes, food - with nothing. And momma dropped him off 4+ days earlier. He was still wearing the same clothes.<br /><br />I go to a second hand store and buy two outfits and two set of PJs. I go to Walmart and buy a car seat, diapers and wipes. And I go get this baby. He sees me and right there in the middle of the street he wraps his 2-year old arms around my neck and squeezes ... and doesn't let go. <br /><br />I hugged him and loved on him right there in front of God and everyone ... and when he realized he was getting in the car with me ... he was game. My kids received him excitedly and he's been with us the weekend.<br /><br />He's hugged up on me all the time - he's not been yelling or screaming, or been yelled or screamed at. He's been 100% obedient to the word NO and hasn't been a lick of trouble. He's eaten sporadically, so I've left cheerios and such all around the house in bowls and I've seen him picking at it throughout the days. His appetite will pick up when it does. You don't make a 2-year old eat - when he's ready ... he'll eat you out of house and home. So, I'll be patient.<br /><br />Here's some advice from JACK:<br /><br /><ol><li>If you are gonna have a baby because you think it's good for your relationship - chances are your relationship sucks and you need to end it.</li><li>The baby likely needs to go too.</li><li>Two words: birth control</li><li>Three words, in case number 3 doesn't work: Morning After Pill.</li><li>If you call CPS on a family member, it will never ever quite be the same again. But that should never dissuade you from doing it - it's all about the child.</li><li>If you choose to have a kid - you no longer matter. <br /></li><li>If you still want to matter - see number 2</li><li>Don't nobody want to raise a grown-up. If your ass isn't out on your own, get the fuck out there on your own. I'm tired of grown ass mother fuckers leeching off of their parents, or grandparents, or the system or what have you. This is especially true if you have children. If you aren't yet living on your own and find yourself pregnant - see number 2.</li><li>If you have children and are doing drugs - keep that information away from JACK. I'll totally report you.</li></ol>I firmly believe that in the last week, the sister-in-law is on one binge or another. If she's drugging or drinking or fucking ... I don't know. But it's a binge. And if you read number 9 above - I don't have to tell you that I'm calling child protection services ....<br /><br />AGAIN.<br />_________________________________________<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Mother fuckers want to forget what it was like to be a kid in a dysfunctional environment - still fucking thinking they're the center of the universe and that the world somehow owes them an adult life free of responsibilities because their childhood sucked. Mother fuckers, please - I will put my childhood up against any body else's fucked up nonsense ... why the fuck do we want to continue the cycle? Why do we want to put our own children through shit we went through ourselves? WHY - when we have so many more options at our disposal than any generation had before us. Fuck you. Just fuckin' FUCK you.</span>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-88288949814955175802010-02-25T22:33:00.003-05:002010-02-25T22:39:23.353-05:00100 PercenterI've taken to doing some self talk - because, quite frankly, there's just a lot of nonsense out there. And I can really get pissed off in a hot minute ... ok? And no one's gonna control that shit if I don't.<br /><br />Like today - when my boss pissed me off to no end. I find myself constantly picking up the pieces for him, and foreshadowing shit for him and trying to help him stay ahead of shit because in the end it all falls on me anyway. I'm really tired of it - and today I was at wits end and I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes.<br /><br />But, my mantra: He did not give me my joy ... and he cannot take it away.<br /><br />That's it - I work too hard to let another man have my joy. Hell no. Whether in business, in life, in love ... <br /><br />Ain't no man give me my joy - and can't no man take it away.<br /><br />I've got me a plan and I"m sticking to the plan and I'm giving it my all ... had a little boo hoo time, Y YA! I'm over it. It's behind me - back to the plan. 52 days without a cigarette. The rest of my life yet to go ...<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZuaDLuRFFEM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZuaDLuRFFEM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-11329060337837510752010-02-23T23:48:00.003-05:002010-02-24T00:06:44.233-05:00Why I gave up my vicesOK, so no casual sex and I quit smoking. And in light of the last 7 days or so (and if you've been reading my blog, you know it's been a mess), I decided to bring some levity back to JGC. And that means, I'm fessing up about the real reasons I decided to drape on that wholesomeness cloak.<br /><br /><ul><li>Smoking was fucking with my head. I was constantly telling myself it was the last cigarette and I was getting more and more angry with myself for not being able to quit.</li></ul><ul><li>I was a phlegm factory and constantly dealing with head colds and shit and that just doesn't make sense. I felt like I kept putting my hand on the stove, getting burned ... and doing it again. Lunacy.</li></ul><ul><li>Casual sex wasn't getting me anywhere - and all it was giving me was a complex. Getting tested every six months is stressful, plain and simple.</li></ul><ul><li>Then there was that time I accidentally blew a drag queen.</li></ul><ul><li>The best sex I've had in the last two years was with a brutha who was so damn high he has no idea who I am. No, like ... seriously - he hits me up a couple weeks ago on adam and introduces himself like we've never met. <br /></li></ul><ul><li>Actually, wait - that wasn't the best sex. The best sex was with this other brutha I don't speak to anymore either ... who met someone after we hooked up and decided to pursue something with him. But who isn't out and doesn't want anyone to know where he lives. </li></ul><ul><li>Did I mention I inadvertantly blew a drag queen?</li></ul><ul><li>Today I hit up another brutha I had been messing with because I haven't heard from him. I knew he had gotten laid off and I wanted to see how he was doing. He moved to DC for a job. After I congratulated him, he told me he was coming back to town and I was going to help him pack and move. "No, I'm not."</li></ul>All in all - casual sex and smoking were fucking with my head. And look folks - I'm a crazy mfer. I hold it together pretty well, but I really am one neurotic son of a bitch. The last thing I needed was to continue to do things that were fucking up my very frail psyche.<br /><br />Reality is that I conducted an inventory of ME ... and I found the shelves empty and the racks half full. Seriously, who's going to invest in me if I'M not ... right?<br /><br />It's been 7 weeks since I've had a cigarette. 9 weeks since I've fucked around.<br /><br />And you know what? I've actually been able to better focus on my job search ... I've got 8 resumes out there, all to very pertinent jobs, all with customized resumes and cover letters ...<br /><br />... because I need to just get back home and stop all this driving nonsense. JACK's not found much in Chicago worth staying for ... just a bunch nonsense ...<br /><br />... and a drag queen with a big dick.JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-71646926285823610392010-02-22T00:27:00.003-05:002010-02-22T00:50:37.714-05:00Funeral Hell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ8Wg1cha-o9hLh3e8D6Ny_zZjn5RveOTRuvDE4rp3-9QSGY8WDDWo956oPHsqQnsnp9zCYshanRUC8KgYu8xF8lkjad52Z2tPQVTtcqMvxcLwmfdv89YdLiOjI6q5oARsvRq5wh9sZ4/s1600-h/funeral_wreath.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ8Wg1cha-o9hLh3e8D6Ny_zZjn5RveOTRuvDE4rp3-9QSGY8WDDWo956oPHsqQnsnp9zCYshanRUC8KgYu8xF8lkjad52Z2tPQVTtcqMvxcLwmfdv89YdLiOjI6q5oARsvRq5wh9sZ4/s200/funeral_wreath.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440935651727460146" border="0" /></a>Why do families need to lose their minds when someone dies? See, I'm not questioning the fact that it is so - because I don't know a funeral that didn't result in some drama - but I'm questioning why it has to be that way?<br /><br />In my previous melancholic post about my cousin's passing, I detailed the depravity shown by someone who sets a gun to a man's temple while he holds his 6-month old. That's the fate my cousin found. It was truly sad.<br /><br />So, the family goes into high gear trying to figure out how to get his remains back into the states, since he passed away in Mexico. And I swear to God, I was about to find some fence climber and just ask him to strap my cousin's corpse to his back and bring him on home ... that would have been easier. For real, for real - all jokes aside - that shit would have been easier.<br /><br />So, long story short - after some considerable difficulty, my cousin gets her brother home.<br /><br />[enter mother fuckers no one even knows claiming to be his kin and wanting to run shit]<br /><br />Fucking Crazy.<br /><br />But I would like to put one particular cousin on blast - the deceased's brother. We'll call him MFA, for mother fucking asshole.<br /><br />MFA's one responsibility was to house the deceased's common-law wife and two kids. (That would be his own sister-in-law, neice and nephew) The kids are 5 and 6-months. The 6-month old being the one who witnessed the whole murder. Ok - so, why the fuck does this MFA show up to the funeral home with his sister-in-law, niece and nephew talking about he can't afford to keep them anymore and someone has to take them?<br /><br />What!? Lemme tell you - transporting a body from Mexico to the USA is NOT cheap. Paying for a viewing ... is NOT cheap. Getting family in to NYC from all over the country (Chicago, Orlando, DC, NC, et. al) is NOT cheap. And all the fuck this nigga had to do was keep this woman for a few days.<br /><br />Nope. It's noon. He's at the funeral with this bitch and her two kids talking about all he has is $60 to his name and he hasn't even fed these people! Homegirl is nursing the 6-month old and she hasn't eaten a thing.<br /><br />[enter pissed off JACK]<br /><br />I had to let him know that he's an asshole. I had to let him know that I didn't give a fuck about his dead brother at this point. Because my dead cousin wouldn't want us spending money to mourn over there at the funeral parlor while his wife and kids went without food and shelter. <br /><br />I told him that if I were to die, I didn't want NAN-UH ONE UH DEM anywhere near my funeral - I'd prefer strangers deal with me and my kids and figure out what to do because this shit is crazy. Who the fuck does this?!?<br /><br />He stuttered and shit and tried to explain that this and that that and that the other thing ... I had to shut him down again and again and again. I put the woman up in a hotel, we all made sure she got something to eat and for the next few days, MFA didn't say a word to me and I didn't even acknowledge his existence. Seriously, MFA is dead to me.<br /><br />Oh, did I fail to mention that MFA threatened her with legal action if she didn't release the deceased's body to the family? Oh, yuh - he did that.<br /><br />Oh, and that MFA threatened to fuck with her veteran's death benefits if she didn't release the deceased's body to the family? Riggghhhtttt ....<br /><br />and then he gets her to the states and puts her out.<br /><br />He's dead to me. For real, for real - I've got nothing to say to that man ever again. Simply unforgivable. <br /><br />(and let me tell you - this is the very, very, VERY short version - I'll spare you all the sordid details ....)<br /><br />-JACKJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-38739317020327343202010-02-13T21:57:00.003-05:002010-02-13T22:51:49.710-05:00When Men Play God<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaovqfzgcGLuTfbyp1zcFoxhKa7VgFksWsp7FjLhg0Cc5KM3vz_pJbWhQGdou7WmjtQY2Q1xkXYsS-D4YxQEMHlXnziuZBEmSaQSHPDSuxNuSJ0M-MGeU9ICK5fDhQlQp0ZNB924sKYc/s1600-h/driverSeat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaovqfzgcGLuTfbyp1zcFoxhKa7VgFksWsp7FjLhg0Cc5KM3vz_pJbWhQGdou7WmjtQY2Q1xkXYsS-D4YxQEMHlXnziuZBEmSaQSHPDSuxNuSJ0M-MGeU9ICK5fDhQlQp0ZNB924sKYc/s200/driverSeat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437935720943220498" border="0" /></a>A Mexican newspaper published this photo. Underneath the sheet? My cousin. May he rest in peace.<br /><br />I've been really down this week. I didn't really know him, since he was about 16 when I was born and way out the house by the time I had my first memory of living with my aunt and uncle. But, yeah, his father and step-mother raised me and his siblings, with whom I was raised, are in mourning.<br /><br />I'm kinda down over it, in a depressive mode even, but I can hardly say that I am experiencing anything near what my cousins are feeling. After all, they knew him. But I can't shake this sadness myself - and what I really want to do is be near my cousin in VA and just be there for her. It bothers me that I can't do that either.<br /><br />What happened, you may be asking. And that's a good question. He was killed, execution style, outside of his daughter's school. His wife was inside dropping off their oldest. Their youngest? Another good question. Their infant was sitting on his lap.<br /><br />I can't even begin to comprehend the depravity of man, that he would shoot another man while an infant sat in his lap. I mean, there was a time when kids were off limits and people respected that - no matter how "bad" they were. But seriously - to have a wife and mother come out of school to find her husband dead is bad enough ... but to find her infant in his lap covered in his blood? There's a special place in hell for these people.<br /><br />And don't get me wrong - I'm not naive to the fact that my cousin was not running around town holding down a 9-5, reading to the blind and helping old ladies cross streets. Clearly, people don't get assassinated for attending sunday school in a predominantly Catholic nation. I get that ... I really do. And I know that there are many people out there on the errant side of the law, perhaps, or on the errant side of very bad people ....<br /><br />But that doesn't mean that those people don't have families who love them. It doesn't mean that those people are necessarily bad people themselves, although I suppose it's possible. But my cousin was rekindling his relationship with his family - he was trying to come around ... having established contact with his siblings and all that, exchanging I love yous and everything.<br /><br />I don't know all the specifics - but I know it's fucked up to shoot a mother fucker who's holding his own child. That shit hurts me. I'm not trying to make my cousin into some angel, ok? I don't know that he was. But I do know that people loved him - and those people are hurting and it's hurting me to know that they're hurting. <br /><br />I've said in an earlier post, I believe it was in my Jennifer Hudson post, that the 'no snitching' rule should come with a clause that exempts the rule from applying when children are involved. If you fuck with children, the 'no snitching' rule is out. And in this situation ... the 'no snitching' rule should SO be out. <br /><br />Yet, it's not. No one saw anything. No one can describe any of the assailants. No one says anything.<br /><br />Except my second cousin who cried and cried and cried as her father's soul slipped into eternity. Right in front of her.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Que Dios me lo tenga en La Gloria</span><br /></div>JACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4785144363469784692.post-2511277821522705732010-02-09T12:38:00.008-05:002010-02-09T20:58:40.122-05:00Letters to Imaginary People<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikTMEI9InFNmwS-EaUHdJmBFCMv27w6DzD4NRkvmIE5HUyzIgSHtLaG-rYqiqmszdHXL5gIHX6144iVuLN7ZsGka_YRcFdkdmgwzYAVT26k_OPmTFosITWw4dUO8TQ-3W8yec6TJthRO0/s1600-h/mother_nature.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikTMEI9InFNmwS-EaUHdJmBFCMv27w6DzD4NRkvmIE5HUyzIgSHtLaG-rYqiqmszdHXL5gIHX6144iVuLN7ZsGka_YRcFdkdmgwzYAVT26k_OPmTFosITWw4dUO8TQ-3W8yec6TJthRO0/s320/mother_nature.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436299788710052594" border="0" /></a><br />Dear Mother Nature:<br /><br />I'm really tired of your ass fucking shit up. Hurricanes, Monsoons, Earthquakes, Tsunamis ... seriously, what's up your craw? The Tsunamis taking out hundreds of thousands - that wasn't cute. But I'll give you points for originality. This thing in Haiti? Now you're just being a bitch. I'm going to need you to get your shit together, lay back on some leather couch and talk out your issues. Some Zoloft may be in order. Or Lithium ... but I'm no medical professional. I just know that you might just need a break.<br /><br />So, fucking take one ... NOW.<br /><br />-JACK<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhuWKpOyarZM5zTL1kaE-aR38djxj6wRggO2O1PL6AgXI7ecHfAyr8QJm50En9b9nU2tbhkWcinygDL9Px-2rizwOrELGuN2FG12WwuBoHeYKZV1lys3rEHS4PhGWOyc8SNoGoBjhBTs/s1600-h/old20man20winter20-20web.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhuWKpOyarZM5zTL1kaE-aR38djxj6wRggO2O1PL6AgXI7ecHfAyr8QJm50En9b9nU2tbhkWcinygDL9Px-2rizwOrELGuN2FG12WwuBoHeYKZV1lys3rEHS4PhGWOyc8SNoGoBjhBTs/s320/old20man20winter20-20web.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436302369682053442" border="0" /></a>Dear Old Man Winter:<br /><br />I'm going to need you to stroke out already. I walked 6 blocks to the train this morning with snow pelting my face, pulling behind me my roller bag ... and those fucking things don't do well in the snow. So, you had me out in the middle of the street with these dumb ass mother fuckers who can't drive on snowy pavement. And then like three feet of snow on the east coast? Seriously, you're done. Take your old ass a real long dirt nap. Maybe mother nature will no longer feel the need to compete with your ass and she can calm the fuck down too.<br /><br />-JACK<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxXlH3GtYAgLFyWEx5FtjJDre3csAxIV65_WmD6MZKqLnGe6MSM_K3CCYTloH7eDeof-3D-Kp9NRC5mhB22EOHEnOlz9PF3GsmlC-Ql1VHl3YMybM0TMp52-bhGH6KXA6E-qH8SqFrsY/s1600-h/toothfairy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxXlH3GtYAgLFyWEx5FtjJDre3csAxIV65_WmD6MZKqLnGe6MSM_K3CCYTloH7eDeof-3D-Kp9NRC5mhB22EOHEnOlz9PF3GsmlC-Ql1VHl3YMybM0TMp52-bhGH6KXA6E-qH8SqFrsY/s320/toothfairy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436303310795560498" border="0" /></a>Miss Tooth Fairy:<br /><br />Look, Bitch - you are NOT allowed to adjust for inflation. Your ass ain't real, dammit! How the fuck a tooth worth dollars now? What happened to quarters?<br /><br />I'm blaming your ass for all the dental problems in the ghetto. I mean, at $5 dollars a pop - do you know how much coke a mouth full of teeth can buy? Why in the hell would anyone want to have any when they can have dope instead?<br /><br />You need to readjust this shit ... parents everywhere are just WAITIN on your ass to show up one night for real. Gon' have your wings framed and mounted, watch.<br /><br />-JACK<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaApbgwaxtYzfTTGH5aEizPyZDo0cIpLrobkeB01bq_sLwTzchjVBu-ZzqV7OU7oQ-pbdbbi5eaCOUG_nSXQJPMK7H9PRAdG1ByQFUOB2olV03bOozTeiF60Bn1Le26xuYcEuZuCOdVM/s1600-h/fd-santa-imp-red.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaApbgwaxtYzfTTGH5aEizPyZDo0cIpLrobkeB01bq_sLwTzchjVBu-ZzqV7OU7oQ-pbdbbi5eaCOUG_nSXQJPMK7H9PRAdG1ByQFUOB2olV03bOozTeiF60Bn1Le26xuYcEuZuCOdVM/s320/fd-santa-imp-red.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436304563091129298" border="0" /></a><br />Dear Santa:<br /><br />I'm a set your ass on fire next time you come down my chimney. Do you know how many parents have had to file chapter 11 cuz of your dumb ass? I swear to GOD you're the worst of the bunch. And that stupid laugh of yours - makes me want to pop you right in the mouth. Holding your belly while you mock us as we march on down with all our paperwork to Bernstein, Weinberger, Feingold & Markowitz. I'm putting a hit on you, that's it.<br /><br />WANTED: FAT, JOLLY WHITE MAN WITH A BEARD WEARING A RED SUIT AND CARRYING A GINORMOUS BAG OF PRESENTS. LAST SEEN HOLDING HIS MIDSECTION AND LAUGHING AT ME FOR HOW MUCH I SPEND ON CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY. DEAD, OR ALIVE.<br /><br />-JACK<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwFK8aD1bLBRdlJ1f2rgJSGpGSdELKwoVr6ogojWE0UQZsV7d8koVEx3DZgt3EeDjIWtMxWMWdp_acz1v1ETmGh8P-yNI5m9Rcc_JtYcfExFUUKxtjDeCWSM1IwjteXeHZNbo0DaiTa8/s1600-h/fathertime.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwFK8aD1bLBRdlJ1f2rgJSGpGSdELKwoVr6ogojWE0UQZsV7d8koVEx3DZgt3EeDjIWtMxWMWdp_acz1v1ETmGh8P-yNI5m9Rcc_JtYcfExFUUKxtjDeCWSM1IwjteXeHZNbo0DaiTa8/s320/fathertime.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436306192154887634" border="0" /></a>Dear Father Time:<br /><br /><br />How does your feet-shuffling, tooth-missing, ben-gay using old ass have shit moving so fast? Slow this shit down - I'm in no mother fucking hurry back to ashes and dust, ok? Fuckin 2010 already and I haven't even been to Venice! (It's on my bucket list) Next time I see you, my friends and I are going to abduct you and admit you to Shady Pines. Your ass needs a break, and some people your age to play bridge with. And if you put up a fight, just keep in mind that I'll be carrying two rolls of quarters stuffed in a sock.<br /><br />-JACKJACKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04748066450299657835noreply@blogger.com5